My Darling Blaine
by H.T. Elia
Summary: A story about story about a TV show.
1. Only Yesterday

**Story Notes:**

This is an AU with some stolen bits of our favourite show. In this world, Blaine never met Kurt or any of the glee nutters in highschool. Enjoy.

 **Author's Chapter Notes:**

The titles of the chapters are all songs. Since this is not going to be a sing song kind of fic, I thought i'd make up for it in the titles.

* * *

 **Only Yesterday**

 _My Darling Blaine, I know what you're thinking. Why the hell would I want to sit here and retell our story when I could be doing better things with my time? Pragmatism is just not in my forte, especially when I am distracted. You know that about me too well. You also know exactly where I'm going to start... the day Rachel called on a cold, late, November night: a day in which the cosmos finally aligned in our favour and we were able to have some time to ourselves. Of course, Rachel had to barge in like a charging meteor and throw us off orbit for a good five years. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if Rachel didn't come that night. YES! I know what you would say: why bother worrying about what might have happened and just focus on the future? Sure, but I've learned, for me to keep moving on, I have to rehash the past to help me do the moving-on bit._

 _I learned that from you, you hypocrite…I love you..._

 **November 20th, 2017 The Hummel-Anderson Home _6:35pm_ **

"Hey Kurt," Rachel sighs as Kurt opens the door. He is surprised by Rachel's anomalous visit, considering the hectic schedule she has been keeping, being the lead in Evita. Every time they would book a visit or try to have a one on one lunch, something or another would hold up their plans, from interviews, to going to her daughter's PTA meeting. In short, being a celebrity mom.

"Rachel? What are you doing here?" Kurt asks curiously as he pulls her into the warmth of the house. "I thought the weekends are for schmoozing with the kings and queens of Broadway and Hollywood."

She looked positively cute in her bite-sized red peacoat, matched with a pair of black boots, grey tights and topped with a cross-hatched, grey beret to finish the ensemble—very Jackie Burkhart. Regardless of her cuteness, her happy outfit was contrasted by a jaded expression as miserable as the snow falling around her.

"I've had it up to here with those people!" She grumbles and theatrically gestures an imaginary boiling point a foot over her head, looking ridiculous in the process considering how short she is. "I am just so sick of the charade and always pretending to be everyone's friend. You guys are my real friends, and I should be spending more time with you."

"Oh my, I feel so special," Kurt feigns appreciation. Whatever her problem is, it's not famous people; Rachel thrives on meeting celebrities, like the one time she wouldn't shut up about bumping into Brangelina, and the possibly transgender Shilo. Nope, someone pissed her off. "Now that I know how much you hate celebrities, which I do not believe by the way, why don't you tell me what's really bothering you? Did your understudy try to steal Evita from you?"

"Yeah right, as if that would happen," Rachel snorts, as she starts pulling at the buttons of her coat as if they are the real culprits behind her predicament.

"Um, remember the time when Auntie Snicks waltzed in and almost ripped the rug from under you at Funny Girl?" Kurt reminds her.

"Ah, yes, but back then I didn't have an army of lawyers," Rachel says confidently as she takes off her coat, revealing a soft, fuzzy, black sweater. "Besides, she left because she couldn't handle it."

"She left because Brittany convinced her otherwise," Kurt counters.

"Kurt? Can we not do this right now?" Rachel whines as she hangs her coat.

"Then tell me what it is that's brought you here unannounced" Kurt persists.

"Okay, fine. My director is pissing me off," Rachel confesses with her commonplace, dramatic bitterness whenever things didn't go her way. "He's so…boring…actually the whole show is boring me to death."

"You're bored?" Kurt gasps, completely astonished. "Rachel, you are playing one of the most coveted characters in Broadway history, and you're telling me you're bored?"—classic Berry move. "You practically lived that role since the day I met you in junior high school."

"I know, I'm as shocked as you are," Rachel agrees incredulously. "Yet, here we are!"

"Okay." Things just got interesting. "Why don't we move this to the kitchen before I burn dinner."

"Why are so dressed up?" Rachel inquiries about Kurt's tight red yoga jeans, white shirt and cute skull vest.

"Dinner with Blaine," He clarifies. "We hadn't had one tgether in a week."

"Oh! You're having a date night? I can come back later…"

"No, no. It's okay. We haven't seen you in a while."

Rachel smiles and walks passed a confused Kurt. Since when did Rachel care about interrupting their dates? Weird…a good weird.

As they enter the kitchen, Rachel sits at the island, while Kurt goes back to his Alfredo sauce.

"I still can't believe you're already bored with Evita," Kurt says as he picks up the wooden spoon to stir the sauce. "You've only been there like what…two months?"

"I know…"

"Oh God…" Kurt pauses, his eyes big and mortified. "Please, Rachel, tell me you are not thinking about breaking your contract again. Last time that happened you flopped and you were out of work for two years."

"No! Are you crazy?" Rachel exclaims as she sits at the kitchen island. "That was the old desperate me. I learned my lesson, thank you very much. I'll finish my three month contract and decline the inevitable extension."

"Okay good." Kurt relaxes and goes back to his sauce, albeit still shocked about his friend's unusual confession. "Still, God Rachel, it is Evita!"

"Look," she says seriously. "I'm not trying to be ungrateful. It's been wonderful. But I just feel stuck; it's like Funny Girl all over again…"

"You are insane, Rachel Berry," he turns towards her a moment just enough to wag a judgmental finger at her.

"I know! I don't know what's wrong with me…" She laments as she props her face on one hand and re-assumes her dejected state. "I should be ecstatic but I just…ever since _Rachel Sings_ has gone off the air, I have been feeling lost." _Rachel Sings_ is Rachel's second attempt at a sitcom. After her first TV flop, she was approached by Ryan Murphy, the god of all that is watchable on TV, and offered her a second chance. Thanks to his genius and his fantastic team, Rachel was able to create a musical based on her high school and university career. It was a massive success and it turned Rachel into a household name, worldwide. "I thought Evita would ground me again, but now that I've done a two month run I just feel like I'm stuck…also I realized that I don't like working for someone else... When I was on the show, Ryan treated me like an equal and always asked for my opinion. It was amazing to be able to contribute and see it change the world."

"But Rachel, for as long as I've known you you've always dreamed about being a Broadway Star," Kurt says still discombobulated by her news.

"That was just a teenage dream, Kurt," Rachel shrugs. "Going through _Rachel Sings_ made me realize that I am more than just a singing actress. I am a creator. I love creating, and now that I have that experience, I have the chance to make something different. I did it once and I want to do it again."

"And what does Jesse think about all of this?" Kurt's asks as he brings a spoon of Alfredo sauce for Rachel to taste.

"Oh my god, Kurt! That is so good!" Rachel moans at the creaminess of the sauce. "Jesse's on board."

Jesse St. James: the bully turned to a knight in shining armour. The egg-throwing bastard is now proving to be a dedicated, loving husband. When he received the invitation to the wedding in L.A., Kurt was flummoxed by the turn of events and was worried that Rachel may be suffering from a serious case of Stockholm syndrome. The truth is, Jesse had been in love with Rachel since the time they met at the music shop in Lima. Before then, his plan was to seduce Rachel and break up with her just before Regionals and ruin her glee club's chance at winning the championship. The more time he spent with Rachel, the less he wanted to hurt her. But his change of heart was overridden when his team accused him of disloyalty and threatened to cut him out from the club. The Vocal Adrenalines didn't care about the matters of the heart; they wanted to win, even if it meant one of their members suffered from a heart ache. Left with no other choice, and from fear of losing his scholarship to UCLA, Jesse went on with his evil plan. Seeing Rachel's broken heart after the egging session, and pretending to hate the sight of her almost made him want to through his scholarship away. But his practical side stopped him for the sake of his career. He carried his guilt all the way to L.A. and for four years he lived with it until he won a paid internship at Murphy Productions. It was then that Jesse took his chance at redemption and emailed Ryan a video of Rachel's second, mindboggling, Funny Girl audition.

The rest, as they say, is history.

"Really?" Kurt asks dubiously. "I remember him being so keen on you going back to Broadway and owning the stage."

"He did," Rachel admits. "But he can see how miserable I am and suggested we try our hand at producing again. We did so well as executive producers at _Rachel Sings._ Why not do it again?"

Before Kurt could reply, the front door opened.

"Honey, I'm home!" Blaine sing-songs as he closes the door behind him.

"Hello, Darling! We're in the kitchen!" Kurt hollers.

"We?" Blaine asks curiously as he makes his way to the kitchen. "Who's we?"

"Rachel's here," Kurt declares.

"Rachel? Really?" Blaine walks in, mirroring Kurt's surprise at Rachel's unexpected visit. He stops and gives his husband a quick peck on the lips, and Kurt smiles at his cute red cheeks and red nose, complements of the falling snow.

"Mmmmm Alfredo Sauce; yum," Blaine sighs happily at the wonderful aroma then turns to Rachel with a big smile on his face and an open arm for big hug. "What are you doing visiting us on a Friday night? Shouldn't you be rubbing elbows with the rich and famous?"

"Yeah, yeah." Rachel gets up to receive his embrace.

"She's bored with Broadway, apparently," Kurt keeps Blaine up to speed.

"What?" Blaine frowns. "What about all the fun you're having on Evita?"

"I am having fun, I just…I need something more creative," Rachel explains.

"Our friend has been bitten by the creative bug," Kurt explains and Blaine raises his eyebrows in delighted surprise. "Her and Jesse are planning on opening their own production company."

"Really?" Blaine says with a twinkle in his eyes. "That is awesome!"

"I know!" Rachel claps her hands together, happy to see Blaine's enthusiasm. "We're going to be creators!"

"Oh! Like another TV show?" He lets go of Rachel and heads to the fridge.

"Yeah, or maybe a movie!" She takes her seat back at the island.

"A _Rachel Sings_ movie!" Blaine adds wistfully as he puts the groceries in the fridge. "I really miss that show."

Rachel shakes her head. "As much as I love that show, I don't think I'll do it again."

"Oh no, please no more musicals," Kurt agrees as he adds the sauce on the freshly boiled pasta. "It's best you stay away from that for a while. No offense."

"None taken," Rachel shrugs. "I'm thinking of dabbling in the Drama category…" She gets up and helps setting the kitchen table for dinner.

"Oh, Rachel," Kurt intones as he puts the steaming bowl of pasta in the middle of the kitchen table and uses the wooden spoon for one last mix. Comedy has always been Rachel's forte; her comedic timing and quick wit has always been so impeccable and fresh. "A Drama? I am so impressed; branching out of your comfort zone is tough."

"That wold be fun, but I don't think I want to be in the show," Rachel announce nonchalantly as if it were no big deal. Kurt and Blaine stop what they're doing and share a serious glance of equally perplexed, arched eyebrows.

"After directing a dozen of episodes on _Rachel Sings,"_ Rachel continues setting up the table, still unaware of her friends coupled confusion. "I found myself relishing the moments when I wasn't the centre of attention. Also, directing and acting all at once can really take a toll on you. If I did that with the new show, then Devon is going to start thinking Nanny Samantha is her mother. That would be truly disappointing after those 15 hours of birthing torture! And Jesse will probably engage in some kind of a kinky tryst, possibly with the nanny—statistics all point to that—and then I'll have to kill them both, which is _really_ bad, because I'm not made for jail. I'm sure I'll be someone's prison wife in no time—" Rachel stops when she notices the lack of witty repartee she's so uses to getting from her friends and finds them ogling at her like she'd spelled Barbra with an extra 'A'.

"What?" Rachel asks cautiously. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Who are you, and what have you done with Rachel Berry?" Kurt asks, amazed by this new Rachel, a Rachel who doesn't want to be the centre of attention. WHAT? Just then Kurt realizes that this is the first time Rachel had spent time alone with them since her return from Los Angeles. They never actually sat down alone and had a heart to heart conversation to reestablish their friendship. Just thirty minutes in the house and Rachel has already thrown two big life changing bombs at them. One more and it will turn into a Rachel Blitz.

"When you guys have kids you'll understand," Rachel explains as she sets the wine glasses around the table. "They become the centre of your universe and you will want to do anything to make sure you're always there every step of the way. Besides, how many times will I come across a man I truly love? Sure there was Finn and I loved him dearly, but we would have never worked out. We were both too stubborn. Jesse calms me down and keeps me level headed, just like April does to Finn. I don't want to put that at stake. I shouldn't even have to convince you; you two know it better than anyone."

Then Rachel goes quiet and her eyes glaze over as a new thought consumes her mind.

"Rachel? Are you okay?" Blaine hurries and takes the last wine glass out of her hand before she drops it.

"I just had an epiphany," Rachel says, eyes wide.

"About?" Kurt, who by now had completely abandoned mixing the pasta since Rachel's second bomb.

"You!" She breaths.

"Me?" Kurt frowns.

"No, You!" She points at both him and Blaine. All they do is stare back in bewilderment.

"What about Us?" Kurt persists as he feels his frustration rising. Waiting in anticipation is not one of his best suits.

"A show about you!" Rachel finally spits out. Blaine and Kurt freeze like they've both been tasered. There's the third bomb! That's it, it is official. The Rachel Blitz is live and on the air.

What a night…all Kurt had in mind is a dinner date with his beautiful, delicious husband and some yummy cuddling topped with some awesome sex—maybe on the couch—right after a couple of episodes their favorite show, _Chopped_. Yet here they all are, in the kitchen, with Rachel pitching a show about their life—the moment that turns their life into a five-year, whirling dervish.

Blaine was the first to come out of his frozen state. "You want to make a show about us?"

"Yes!" Rachel laughs in disbelief. "Oh my god! It was staring me in the face this whole time!"

"Oh wow," Blaine says in disbelief.

Suddenly, Kurt laughs out loud at the ridiculous idea, stunning Blaine and Rachel in the process. "Come on, Rachel stop joking around."

"I'm not joking," Rachel says seriously. "Think about it. How long did it take you and Blaine to find each other…something around thirteen years?

"fifteen," Blaine corrects.

"Okay, fifteen, and if you ask me that's a whole lot of years jammed with what I'm sure are amazing stories!"

Kurt didn't know how to feel about this new development, and when he sees the sparkles in Blaine's eyes, panic fills his chest. The last thing he needs is to relive that pain; they have finally settled into a wonderful, domestic bliss that he had always been dreaming of.

"No."

As Kurt hears the word come out of his mouth, he could see the glow in Blaine's eyes die a horrible death. Feeling guilty at his rash answer, Kurt immediately corrects himself. "I mean, I'm not sure I want to compromise our privacy."

"But it will be worth it!" Rachel resorts to her begging voice and that's when Kurt is sure Rachel is serious. "It will be a great show and it'll make up for all the attention!"

"I don't know, Rachel…"

"They might not even pick up the show, so what's the harm in trying?" Rachel counters.

"The harm is that they might pick up the show," Kurt argues.

Blaine watches as Kurt and Rachel argue. It is normal for Blaine to be forgotten when Kurt gets consumed in an argument that is not directed at him, and from experience, instead of getting upset and consequently turning Kurt into the Hulk, he found out waiting for the opportune moment to pitch in his own idea always brought Kurt's attention to him. And finally, that moment comes when Kurt takes the time to pinch the bridge of his nose out of frustration.

"What if we change our names?" Blaine suggests quietly and Kurt looks up, his attention successfully captured. "No one has to know the story is based on real life events."

"Yes! Blaine, thank you. We can write it in the contract," Rachel quickly adds before Kurt finds yet another excuse. "We can add a clause where no one is allowed to compromise your privacy. Only the producers and writers will know. The rest will be left out of the loop!"

Silence reigns as Kurt takes in the suggestions. They were so reasonable that Kurt couldn't object, but he still needed time to let the idea sink in down to his bones. He looks over at Blaine and finds him smiling encouragingly. He always does that whenever Kurt is facing a colossal and possibly life-changing decision, and Kurt is grateful for that.

"Okay…can I sleep on it?" Kurt politely demands and Rachel squeaks with excitement.

"Take all the time you need," she says eagerly. "I still have a month before I'm done my contract anyways, so no rush!"

"Okay," Blaine claps his hands together. "Now that's out of the way. I am starving. Shall we dig in?"

 _The next morning, I wake early after a plague of nightmares. Thanks to Rachel, I wasn't able to sleep right without dreaming up some petrifying scenarios of what might happen if I said no. I can't quite remember any of them except the one where my high school newspaper president, Jacob, was cast to play me. I know you think it's hilarious, but I still believe that if you met the guy you would want to throw up too._

 _Anyway, since I was already awake, I decide to rip myself out of bed and crawl into my running outfit. It was really cold outside, but I knew the crisp, fresh air of Central Park would shake the residual nightmarish feelings, and help me think clearly. It was then I bumped into the mysterious couple that changed my mind forever._

"Let's do it," Kurt says as he crawls on to the bed, freshly showered after his run.

"Maybe after breakfast," Blaine mumbles half asleep as he squeezes one of Kurt's pecs and then he turns away and promptly falls back to sleep. Kurt laughs; talking to Blaine while half-asleep always yielded entertaining conversations, and somehow it was always sex related. Except for the time Kurt asked him if he can borrow _My Fair Lady: The Theatrical Version_ CD back in 2002 and all he said was ' _sure'._ It took Blaine five years to find the CD in Kurt's collection.

"No silly," Kurt shakes him again. "I'm talking about the show."

Blaine turns his head and blinks a few times before his eyes are wide open and staring. "Did you say…wait…am I still dreaming?"

"I don't know, what did you think I said?" Kurt teases.

"You said 'Let's do the show'…" Blaine answers cautiously, his eye still bleary and his hair adorably sticking out on one end.

"Then no, you weren't dreaming," Kurt smiles as he tries to tame the wild curls on his cute beast, but they kept spring back to their odd angle.

Blaine takes a moment to let then news sink in, and when he's finally sure he's awake, he uncovers himself and flops himself on Kurt, smothering him with his naked body and a gazillion kisses all over his face. Kurt screams and tries to push him away, but the more he tries, the more Blaine kisses him.

"What changed your mind?" Blaine asks as he recovers from his kissing fit.

"It's kind of silly actually," Kurt admits while he catches his breath.

"Tell me," Blaine insists with his big puppy eyes.

"Okay…I was running down the same path, you know the one that passes by the carousel."

"Yeah, you're obsessed with that path…"

"Hey, I like the carrousel, okay?"

"Yeah, if you were a ten-year-old." Kurt smacks Blaine on the shoulder.

"Ow!" Blaine pouts. "Anyway..."

" _Anyway,_ I usually bump into the same people on certain days, and on Saturdays I always bump into The Golden Forties."

"The Golden Forties?" Blaine frowns as he crosses his arms over Kurt's chest and props his chin over his wrists.

"Just a blonde couple in their mid-forties," Kurt explains and Blaine hums his agreement, as if the nickname totally made sense. "And like always, whenever we pass by each other, we acknowledge each other with a cordial nod and smile. And then it hit me. The same thing happens every time we meet for those two short seconds, and I realize that it never goes further than that."

"I don't get it," Blaine asks as he brushes Kurt's shower-damp hair to the side so he can see his husband's full expressions clearly. "What does that have to do with the show?"

"I have been seeing these couple every Saturday for the last five years and I know nothing about them. How they met, if they struggled like we did to find love, or if they were just high school sweethearts. So many people live out entire lives that we know nothing about."

Blaine's playfulness fades into an understanding smile as he watches his husband retell his deep discovery. He always loves those moments, when Kurt gets caught up with the philosophy of life. It reminds him of the eighteen-year-old Kurt, so fresh out of high school and new to real life.

"And here I am with a chance to tell our story to the world, and for it to resonate through generations, and what do I do? I panic because I'm worried about our privacy."

"Wow," Blaine says, truly awed by Kurt's conclusion.

"I know…" Kurt agrees. "It's deep."

"It is." Blaine's grin returns. "Who knew I was married to a philosopher?" he teases.

"Blaine! I'm trying to be serious here," Kurt reprimands his husband, but couldn't help laughing along with him.

"I know, I know," Blaine's smile softens and he catches Kurt's lips into a deep kiss. "So that is a definite _yes_?"

"Yes," Kurt agrees and it was his turn to smother Blaine with his naked body.

 _Sure we had our ups and downs, and a few hours where I thought our marriage had come to an end, but it was all worth it and if I had to, I would do it all over again. Except for the time where I almost got punched by a football player._

* * *

Chapter End Notes:

Only Yesterday - The Carpenters


	2. Sqaure One

**Square One**

 _I will not forget the moment we told Rachel about our decision. It was such a piercing scream, I thought the ringing aftermath was going to last me the rest of my life. Then she screamed some more when we I told her that we won't be changing our names. Anyway, Rachel and Jesse got to work and drafted a proposal for what they ridiculously called an Elevator pitch—to this day I have no idea why they call the meeting an elevator pitch. I remember you once said that it could be a metaphor for it possibly going either way._

 **Dec 13th, 2017 The Hummel – Anderson cozy living room _12:26pm_**

 **Pitch Discussion:**

"The only way I can see this "elevator pitch" going is crashing down in the basement," Kurt says, too skeptical about anyone picking up the show. "I mean, why is our story so special? I could see them wanting to do a show about The Kardashians because they're a bunch of rich wackos...but we're just two guys with a long story…"

"It's not just a long story. It's a love story! Besides, there's a whole lot of TV shows and movies out there that are based on the lives of ordinary people,' Rachel points out with unfailing optimism. "Take Seinfeld for an example, or Please Like Me…"

"Yeah but they're both great comedians," Kurt protests, unable to wrap his head around the idea. "And not mention, famous."

"Hello," Rachel points at herself. "I'm sitting right here…"

"But you're the famous one," Kurt counters, "not us."

"Have some faith, Kurt," Jesse cuts in. "After all, it's not just the story, but how it unfolds. Also this will be great for the LGBTQ community, a normal story about two men falling in love. All people think about gay people is how they have sex…now don't give me that face Kurt, you know they do …Also, we already have an in with Ryan Murphy. We've got this in the bag."

"And, Ryan loves me and would do anything to help me out," Rachel adds. "He even told me I'm like the daughter he'd never had!"

 _And she was right. Ryan was with us all the way, helping us get our foot in the door and more... At first he just wanted to be a bystander, but then when he read the first episode, he offered to be a Co-producer and Rachel almost lost her mind again. Honestly, knowing that he was going to be there throughout the whole production was a relief. Not that I didn't trust Jesse and Rachel; they were amazing and so dedicated, but it was nice to have a veteran helping us out on the show—our own Fairy God Father._

 _After the pitch was written and sent out to several prospective entertainment companies, all we had to do was to wait for their reply. However, waiting at home during the first week of our holiday brought out the OCD I usually suffer from whenever I'm stressed. It also brought out the murderer in Rachel, since I got into the habit of calling her every two hours on the dot, especially that one time I interrupted her couple's deep tissue massage. Thankfully, you surprised me with a spontaneous trip to Disneyland, otherwise I would have rearranged the furniture all throughout the house! And you know when I do that I start planning to rip out the tiles and change the hardwood, and before you know it the whole place would probably be gutted._

 _Then one day, as we were unloading our luggage back into the house from our impromptu trip, we finally get_ The Phone Call.

 **Dec 22nd, 2017 The Hummel-Anderson slightly unkempt front lawn 10:52 am**

 **The Phone Call:**

Kurt was still high in the sky after the magical trip to Disney, so much, that when he got The Phone Call from Rachel, he had all but forgotten about the show. The last he had heard from Rachel she told, very sternly, not to call her until she does. So, when his phone rings he says: "Oh it's, Rachel."

"Oh my god," Blaine gasps, making Kurt jump out of his skin. "This is it!"

"This is what?"

"THE SHOW!"

Kurt's eye bug out as it suddenly dawns on him. He immediately answers and hits the speaker button. "Hey Rachel," Kurt says as he shares a trepid glance with an otherwise grinning Blaine. Actually, it was more than grinning, it was teetering towards madness.

"Guess what!?" Rachel singsongs into the phone, and Kurt could already feel a lump starting to form in his throat from sheer anticipation.

"What? What is it?" Blaine asks excitedly, his eyes wide and eager with hope.

"NETFLIX SAID YES!" She yells into the phone, low at first then it turns into a full on shriek. Kurt was so shocked he was rendered speechless; he never thought anyone would be interested in their story let alone Netflix.

"YES!" Blaine jumps around and pumps his fists in the air. "OH MY GOD THAT IS AWESOME!"

"I KNOW!" Rachel recovers from her shriek. "But listen I gotta go! We're packing and jumping back on the plane in a couple of hours! See you guys tomorrow for brunch?"

"Yes! See you then!" Blaine agrees on Kurt's behalf and ends the phone call.

They stare at each other for a moment before they hug one another and start jumping around in the front lawn like they've just won a VIP meeting with Benedict Cumberbatch. Their excitement was so loud a series of dog barks went off all the way down their block, forcing a couple of curious neighbours to come out of their homes.

 _The best part about getting the gig was how we actually landed the deal with Netflix. It turns out, paramount studios was flat out not interested worried that it might be a repeat of The New Normal. Next, Universal wanted to put a twist on the show by giving your character Chlamydia and turning it into an American version of Love Sick. First, it was too…un-Blaine-like. You're always too careful with that stuff, which is yet another thing I love about you. As far as I know, and even after our first time, our tests always came back negative. And I knew that if you were ever to unfortunately contract something, you would tell me, whether we're together or not. Must be that Catholic guilt passed down through your ancestors—minus the religion. Second, and we had this conversation with Rachel and Jesse already, this show was to be be based on real life events, ONLY. Thanks to Rachel's and Jesse's profound loyalty, they refused the offer on the spot, which led them right to Netflix._

 _Netflix, there aren't enough good things to say about that company: they are always on the lookout for the creatively progressive, and their eagerness to help their creators is astounding. They even built studios so they can help their own shows save on their filming budgets. How amazing is that? Because they are so cool, they said yes after ten minutes from hearing the pitch. And just like that the papers were signed and everything started rolling like a maglev bullet train. But before we jump on the high-speed train that is our show, and blow our hair in the wind, I would like to rewind to the day we formulated our pitch._

 **Dec 13th 2017 The Hummel – Anderson living room/ detour to the Kitchen _7:03 pm_**

 **Pitch Formulation:**

"Ugh!" Rachel expels her sigh of deep frustration as she dramatically falls back onto the couch, and Jesse echoes her mood by rubbing his face with both hands. "Why is this so difficult?"

"Tell me again, why we can't we tell the story just the way it is?" Kurt asks as he adjusts his legs over Blaine's lap on the adjacent couch.

"I told you already, we need a setup, a format that would get the audience excited," Rachel insists for fiftieth time. Kurt can be so insufferable sometimes.

"Then why don't we go by year?" Blaine suggests.

"Because that's boring…" Rachel says bluntly—if Blaine took offense, no one noticed. PS…he did take offense—"Might as well go in alphabetical order…" she continues.

"Why don't we do that?" Jesse suggests.

"There is no reason to go in alphabetical order!" Rachel bites back. Gosh someone's in a bad mood. It reminded Jesse of that time Rachel had to go on a severe low-carb diet after a rough course of antibiotics...bitch doesn't even cover it.

"We could always find a reason," Jesse counters ignoring her bite like a good husband should. "It's Hollywood, weird is good."

"Sure, but we don't want to make it weird, we need to make it inviting," Rachel dismisses her husband's suggestion flippantly. Jesse wants to let out a huge sigh, but he keeps in. No reason to wake the beast and delay the process.

Silence reigns again…except for Jesse drumming his pen on his thigh. _Plat, plat, plat, plat,_ and it is keenly chafing on Kurt's patience.

"What if we do something like Jane the Virgin?" Kurt suggests, trying his best to distract himself from snapping at Jesse's fidgeting. "Don't you think it's fun?"

"Come on, Kurt," Rachel cries out in frustration. "We've already been through this! It's not some good old story or a silly romance comedy. I want this project to win awards and get recognition! I want it to be one of the best shows: a show that people will watch over and over again. Like Friends or Will and Grace for example…"

"Or Sherlock," Blaine agrees. "I watch that show once a year."

"You're forgetting that this is our story, Rachel! Not yours to do whatever the hell you want with it!" Kurt points out as calmly as he could, which wasn't very calm. Seeing the threat of a thunderstorm fight coming along—Kurt being the thunder and Rachel being the storm-ing off part—Jesse stops tapping his pen and speaks.

"Okay, guys, let's not go there," Jesse says with polite authority. "You're both right. That's why we're all meeting here, so we can work together and figure something that will work for all of us. Rachel, and I'm not saying this because I'm biased, I know you want this show to be amazing and I agree. And Kurt your idea is great too and I added it to our list, which we will go through once we've exhausted all avenues. Okay?" Jesse looks pointedly at both parties he's addressing. And they both nod.

"Right," Kurt steps down, feeling a little guilty. "Sorry, I didn't mean to freak out…"

"Me too," Rachel agrees. "Look, I understand where you're coming from. I know it's your story and I told you I am going to care of it like it's my own child."

"I know," Kurt smiles at her.

And they're back to Square one; still no solid formula.

"You know what I think?" Blaine pipes up. "I think we all need some dinner. We've been at this for four hours and I think the lack of nourishment is getting the best of us."

"He's right; I'm starving," Kurt says as he realizes how hungry he is. "How about some Sushi?"

Once everyone agrees on what to order, Blaine heads to the kitchen to take a look at the menu tacked onto the fridge door and that's when he sees it. A close up photo of Kurt's hand, intertwined with his, boasting the engagement ring he gave him: a beautiful, quarter-inch thick, silver band with a row of delicate diamonds inserted around its middle. He gingerly removes the photo from under the magnet and studies the captured moment. As the idea formulates in his mind, a wide, slightly impish grin spreads on his face.

In the living room, Kurt is checking an email from his dad when he receives a phone call from…Blaine? What the hell?

"Hello?" Kurt answers dubiously. "Why are you calling me on my pho—"

"Come to the kitchen," Blaine instructs eagerly. "I have something to show you."

"What going on?" Kurt asks curiously as he walks into the kitchen and finds Blaine sitting at the island. Sporting a triumphant grin, Blaine slides the photo towards his husband. Kurt picks up the photo and stares at it for a moment, and back at Blaine, clearly confused.

"Why am I looking at this?" Kurt asks, his dubiousness doubling.

"I think the story should start with our proposal," Blaine explains.

"Oh…Why there?" Kurt knows why, but he is praying it's not what he thinks it is.

"The talk, of course," Blaine clarifies.

Ah yes: The Talk; the talk that explained Blaine's disappearance from Kurt's life for most of 2014. It was around the time Blaine had hit rock bottom, and was forced by his friend, Connor, to re-evaluate his life, and to do that, Connor insisted that he stay away from Kurt until he was ready to face him without any serious baggage. Kurt remembers the day he came over to Blaine's house to inquire about his disappearance, and instead, he found Connor, who told him: "If you want what's best for him, I'd leave him alone. He'll find you when he's ready. I promise." And that was it. No other explanation, until they had the talk.

"We don't have to do it, Kurt," Blaine quickly assures as he senses his husband's reticence. "It's just an idea."

Some people may think, at this moment, that Blaine is using his massive characterful eyes to guilt Kurt into accepting his idea. But, lucky for Kurt, he knows the difference between Blaine's genuine and pouty puppy eyes, and what he's seeing now is definitely genuine. Fuck…Kurt can't do this to Blaine. His idea is just too good, and makes for an interesting nonlinear, mysterious storytelling. Kurt couldn't bring himself to disagree, so he decided to put his reservations aside and follow Blaine's footsteps.

"No," Kurt says confidently. "I think it's a great idea."

"Really?" Blaine beams at him.

"Yeah," Kurt smiles back. "Let's do it."

 _Maybe it's time that I admit that I was super nervous when you shared your idea with me, and when you presented it to Rachel and Jesse, the whole project suddenly became too real. Naturally, my anxiety spiked. This time, though, my fear wasn't about the loss of privacy. It stemmed from a deeper place, where my unhealed wounds resided. The biggest of them all was the year when you gradually dropped out of my life, leaving a gaping hole in your wake. It was so rough, because I had lost my only confidant. Jeff tried his best to fill that space to keep me sane, but it just wasn't the same. Be that as it may, I understood why you had to do it. Of course, I don't think that way anymore, but that night, when you proposed your idea to me, it felt like a thread in our relationship had come loose again, threatening to unravel everything we had worked towards. In the end, it turned out that I was wrong. Your idea brought us much closer…that was until you sprung that massive lie you hid from me for so many years…but don't worry, I'm over that too._

 **Dec 15th, 2015 The Hummel-Anderson bedroom/ emergency room visit _5:52 pm_**

 **The Proposal:**

December 15th is here and Kurt is so glad to turn off the lights to his studio one last time before the New Year. This day will mark the start of his and Blaine's Christmas tradition as a couple. Starting this year, every first week of their vacation will be spent with each other, alone. For the rest of the holiday they would visit with friends and family—with Burt and Carol joining them from Lima, Ohio—and finally capping the end of 2015 at Times Square.

When Kurt walks through the door he is met by a wonderful aroma of a home cooked grommet meal.

"Hello, Darling!" Kurt intones, loud enough for Blaine to hear. No answer. "What are you cooking? It smells divine," he continues as he hangs his coat. Before he could head to the kitchen to investigate the delicious meal, his eye is caught by a trail of party confetti, making its way up the stairs. A curious frown develops on Kurt's face. _What is Blaine doing throwing confetti all over their plush carpet?_ Kurt thinks to himself. Whatever it is, it must be worth it, because Blaine loathes vacuuming. A strange trait since he loves to keep a clean house. Regardless, Kurt follows the trail all the way up to their master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he could already smell the familiar raspberry scented candles Blaine loves so much, filling the air.

"Oh my god," Kurt gasps as he pushes the door open and walks in. All their furniture was gone and replaced by a completely different set. It was a blast from the past; every corner was filled with Blaine's bedroom decor from his university days. The last time he had seen it was that very special night; the first time they crossed, physically. Everything is exactly where it's supposed to be. There is the same duvet with the blue stripes, and the same matching pillows that Kurt laid his head on many times whenever he visited Blaine for advice, and there's that the silver, fuzzy, round rug that Kurt loved to dig his toes into whenever he walked into Blaine's room, and that silly the orange lava lamp that Blaine never turned off come hell or high water. That night, it was the only light source they had when they made love, offsetting the shadows of Blaine's body so perfectly. On the bed, Kurt noticed a white envelope. On it, it said, 'He looked exactly the same when he was alive, except he was vertical'. Kurt laughs, loving the fact that Blaine remembered so much from that night. He knew exactly what he would find inside the envelope, and sure enough, when he opened it he found two tickets to a midnight Hitchcock movie at his favourite theatre.

Kurt was so consumed by the romantic gestures that his ears didn't register Blaine slinking into the room and kneeling right behind him with a ring box open in his hand. Unfortunately, as Kurt turns around, sensing some disturbance in the air, the back of his legs hits Blaine's thigh and he loses balance and falls backwards, arms flailing in the air. To make it worse, as Kurt trips, the tip of his shoe—and it is a hard shoe tip!—knocks the ring and the box out of Blaine's hands and collides square with Blaine's nose. _CRACK…YELP!_

"OH MY GOD!" Kurt sits up when he gets his bearings straight and rushes to his boyfriend. "OH MY GOD!"

"My nose!" Blaine yells in agony.

"Oh no, no, no!" Kurt reproaches himself. "What the hell were you doing down there?!" If Kurt's count is right, and he is sure he is right, this will be the third time Blaine's nose suffers an injury, all because of Kurt. To make things worse, the last one happened only six months ago! Talk about a sensitive spot…

"I was trying to propose!" Blaine admits in a mix of anger and agony—he was only angry at himself if anyone is wondering. When Kurt hears those words his heart stops for a moment, and that is when he makes the connection with the ring and the bedroom. Blaine had been in love him ever since they made love for the first time? Oh wow…But he had no time to processes his revelation, because a moment later blood starts leaking through Blaine's fingers. Without second thought, Kurt rips of his cardigan and tries to use it as a napkin.

"NO!" Blaine pulls away horrified. "No not that cardigan!"

"It's just a shirt, Blaine, I can get a new one," Kurt dismisses him.

"But I love this one," Blaine half-moans and half-pouts, "It looks so good on you. All those cute lobsters…"

Kurt's heart melts; it is so like Blaine to worry about other things while he's injured. Just like when he took the punch for before the football player could hit Kurt's face. After that he asked Kurt if he was alright. Such a martyr…

"You are ridiculous," Kurt shakes his head with a little smile and goes for the Kleenex on the nightstand and realizes that his usual nightstand is missing and ends up running to the other side to grab the tissues.

After five minutes bending over the sink bleeding like a punctured hose, they decided to visit the emergency room. Luckily it was quieter than usual and Blaine was able to get in within the hour. An X-ray and a precautionary CAT scan later, the nurse leaves Blaine on one of the hospital beds to wait, and Kurt sits right by him, his arm wrapped around his shoulders. Across from where they are sitting, is a small mirror. It immediately attracts Blaine's attention and he sees his ridiculous bandaged nose and the blackness forming under his right eye. Suddenly a rush of mirth surges through him and he starts to chuckle, quietly at first, but then it develops into a roaring laugh. Kurt is stunned for a moment, thinking his boyfriend has finally had for too many hits in the nose.

"What's so funny?" Kurt asks a little tickled by Blaine's sudden change in mood.

"My…My nose…" Blaine says between laughs, "it looks so stupid." Then he doubles over and continues to laugh. "Three times!" he gestures with his hand, the words barely escaping his mouth as he runs out of air. Unable to resist this unexpected hilarity, Kurt starts to laugh as well. Blaine did look ridiculous with two cotton balls taped under his nose, and seriously who gets punched that many times in the nose?— Unless they are China.

As they quiet down into a comfortable silence, Kurt takes Blaine's hand in his.

"My answer is yes, by the way," Kurt declares affectionately.

As much as Blaine wants for Kurt to say yes, he is still shocked to hear him say it, so soon after his last wedding.

"You're surprised?" Kurt asks.

"A little," Blaine admits sheepishly. "I'm not going to lie; I thought you were going to say it's too soon. You know…because of what happened with…you know who…"

"He's not Voldemort. You can say his name," Kurt teases as he gently shoves him with his shoulder.

Before Blaine can answer, the door opens and a female doctor walks in.

"Hello…Mr. Anderson. My name is Dr. Flatly," the red-haired, middle-aged woman introduces herself with a genuine smile and a very light Irish accent. "How's the nose feelin'?"

"Not too bad."

"Excellent," the doctor looks down at her chart. "It looks like this is not your first rodeo. And not quite far from the last one either."

"No, I'm afraid not," Blaine chuckles in agreement. "Bad luck I suppose."

"Are you the husband?" the doctor asks Kurt.

"Oh, no, I'm just the boyfriend," Kurt corrects her.

"Fiancé actually," Blaine corrects him and Kurt blushes. That's right! They're engaged! It felt so strange yet so wonderful.

"I tried to propose and then _this_ happened." Blaine points to his nose, "so embarrassing."

"No, don't be embarrassed," the doctor reassures him with a wave of her hand. "Shit happens. The morning after my wedding my gentlemen of a husband made us breakfast in bed. Let's just say the coffee didn't stay on the tray and burned my skin in all the wrong places."

Both Blaine and Kurt wince.

"I'm so sorry," Blaine sympathizes.

"Don't be," she waves her hand. "I'm just sayin' it's not about the perfect moments, but the imperfect ones that will make for interesting stories…especially to your children."

"I guess," Blaine nods, still embarrassed by the turn of events.

"Besides, your fiancé is still here, and that should be proof enough that it's already in the past…"

"True, but don't repeat it at our wedding, or else I'll totally leave…" Kurt jokes.

"Sounds like a keeper," She smiles and winks at Blaine. "Now, down to business."

With only a minor fracture, Blaine and Kurt were sent of home with a bottle of Tylenol and strict advice to take their shoes off while they're inside the house.

"You know good thing the rug is old," Kurt joked as he and Blaine stood over the carpet, where the nose murder scene occurred, "because I love the other rug."

"It's just a rug, Kurt," Blaine says sarcastically. "We can always buy another one."

"Shut up." Kurt push's Blaine lightly at the shoulder.

"OH! No acrobatics remember?" Blaine warned jokingly and Kurt laughs.

"I got something for you." Kurt pulls out the ring box from his coat pocket.

"Right," Blaine takes it and sighs deeply. "I'm sorry I messed it up."

"You didn't mess it up. I did."

"Oh no, I did. I shouldn't have knelt right behind you."

"Okay, fine we both did." Kurt smiles and wraps his arms around Blaine's waste, bringing them closer until their bodies are flush. "But I agree with Dr. Flatly. There's no time for hard feelings. _We're engaged._ "

"Okay," Blaine smiles at his fiancé. Then he opens the box with a soft pop and quirk's an eyebrow at Kurt. "May I?"

"Yes you may." Kurt pulls away just enough for Blaine to put the ring on, and as Blaine slides the cool band on his finger, Kurt's chest swells at this once-in-a-life-time euphoric moment. It's finally official. After so many years of oscillating, they are finally going to begin the chapter Kurt had been craving for over fifteen years. Mirroring his emotions, Blaine turns Kurt's attention to him and places the softness kiss on his lips. At that moment, Kurt wanted to ravish Blaine, but mindful of his delicate nose situation, he comes up with a different idea.

"How about we have that dinner and cash in those tickets?" Kurt suggests.

"With my nose looking like this?" Blaine grimaces.

"We're going to be in the dark for most of it."

"You've got a good point there, Kurt."

 _The doctor was right the proposal did make for interesting story, not only for our kids, but for millions of people around the world. I remember the day they filmed the fall; so much work went into that slow motion matrix sequence. Every moment had to be practiced a hundred times. The rotating ring, Sam's and Pen's hilarious expressions, and the tip of the shoe hitting the nose…all had to be done in one shot from six different angles. The end result…priceless._


	3. Days Go By

Author's **Chapter Notes:**

I would say sorry for the lateness, but I am not. Not because I don't appreciate my readers, but because this chapter needed the right amount of attention to get it to hit the right spot. I hope you like it as much as I do. Enjoy.

* * *

 **Days Go By**

 _Christmas holidays were over and the wheels on the preproduction started churning. The first dot on the agenda was to get the story written. The plan they concocted was so obtrusive, it landed me the equivalent of ten blocks away from my comfort zone. Nina, Rachel's faithful and insensitively organized assistant—she is a scheduling monger, probably because she had to deal with an errant Rachel for a good eight years—took us through the terrifying writing schedule, which included ungodly hours with four writers that I've never met before. Sorry, but I couldn't dish my dirty laundry outside my circle, at least not face to face! So, inevitably, down went my foot._

 ** _January 9th 2018 Porcelain Photography Studio/ Annex room with fantastic view of Central Park/ Kurt's private office 10:12am_**

"I'm sorry Rachel, but I am not going to spill my life's details in front of a bunch of strangers," Kurt demands on speaker phone, doing his best to keep his patience astride amongst all his negative emotions associated with that stupid schedule.

"They are writers not gossip columnists," Rachel mitigates, but Kurt is having none of it.

"Yes, I know they are writers," Kurt says his voice a touch annoyed by Rachel's patronizing tone. "They are still people I don't know and I don't feel comfortable with this arrangement," Kurt continues his rant as he hooks his camera up to the computer to upload photos form his latest shoot.

"Would it help if I said they are extremely nice people?" Rachel attempts.

 _They were most definitely nice, except for Zizes, who always gave me that weird, penetrating look that made me want to crawl back into my mother's womb. Remember? Who knew the two of us would become such kindred spirits?_

Kurt rolls his eyes and replies, "No, it doesn't. I don't care if they are the nicest in the world. The idea of airing out my personal life in front any stranger, nice or not, gives me a major case of the goose bumps and not the good kind. I'm even nervous to share some of that stuff with Blaine. There are so many things he doesn't know about and I don't want the first time he hears about it is in a conference room with four people ogling at us." A small shiver runs down Kurt's spine as he imagines them all staring with big hungry, tennis-ball eyes. "Just gives me the shivers."

"Oh no, goose bumps and shivers…not a good combo. So what do you have in mind?" Rachel asks nonchalantly as she lends him an unexpected ear.

"I'm sorry, what?" Kurt falters at her astonishing tolerance.

"If this is not what you want, then how do you suggest we go forward?" She repeats patiently.

"You really want my opinion?" Kurt asks cautiously. Gosh, he still needs time to get used to this fresh and accommodating Rachel.

"Yes, Kurt. It's your show as much as mine and Jesse's. I want you guys to be as comfortable as possible. We're a team; we're on your side," she adds genuinely.

"Okay." Kurt's tension melts and relief seeps into his bones. "I was thinking that Blaine and I should write the first draft…alone. I mean I don't know the first thing about screen writing, but we could write it as a book and that way you guys can have a comprehensive version of the story with as many details as possible."

"Huh," Rachel hums contemplatively. "You know what you might be onto something good here. Why don't you let me pitch the idea to the guys? In fact I'll do it now; I'm just on my way to a crew meeting. I'll get back to you later this evening."

"Really?" Kurt says incredulously, not believing his own ears.

"Yeah, why not?" Rachel dismisses his apprehension. "Besides, I read all your vogue columns for the past ten years, especially that one surrounding the reimagining of the cheetah print! I mean If your words can convince young people to wear animal prints, imagine what you can do with a story!"

 _The plan was received with open arms by the writing team and Netflix alike. The only two demands were to uphold to the same deadlines for every episode and give the writing team some creative freedom over the conversation in the bedroom scenes at the beginning of every episode. The past was all ours._

 _With the deadlines mapped out, it was time to buckle down and tackle the monster. It started on a cold day like any other in a New York January: a perfect fit for a crackling fireplace, platter of Brie cheese, aged pepperoni, thin slices of prosciutto—your favourite—and two piping cups of dark, cinnamon hot chocolate…_

 ** _January 15th 2018 The Hummel-Anderson living room and a cozy fire place 5:04pm_**

"Hey, Blaine! Are you ready?" Kurt shouts from the staircase landing, his arms wrapped around his chest, a demanding pose he always assumes whenever he's in a hurry to get started.

"I'm coming! Just give me one minute!" The namesake hollers back from the master bedroom. For the duration of that minute, Kurt paces around, his gait anxious, not out of fear, but that of excitement. It's funny that he was the first to object to the idea of a TV show based on their life, and now he was the first to want to get started.

"I'm sorry, took me a bit to find it," Blaine explains as he ejects from the bedroom with hurried feet.

"What's this?" Kurt asks as he points at the shoe box in Blaine's hands.

"It's my memory box."

"All your memories are in this tiny box?" Kurt says wide-eyed.

"No silly." Blaine chuckles. "There's also Facebook and the list in my wallet."

"Aww, so compact," Kurt remarks with a cooing visage as they walk together into the cozy living room.

"Wow, nice spread," Blaine praises his husbands efforts at creating a comfortable atmosphere and obviously delicious treats. Always leave it to Kurt to help set the mood. For the last few days they've been on edge ever since they were handed the responsibility of writing the first draft. Blaine was more nervous than Kurt, seeing that he has never been good at creative writing. Luckily, Kurt offers permanent services over said task, and all Blaine had to do is R&R—relax and recollect.

"Thanks, hubby." Blaine wraps one arm behind his husband's back and plants a sweet peck of deep gratitude on his lips.

"You're welcome. I know how much hot chocolate calms you down, so it was a no brainer."

"What are these?" Blaine asks as he points at the two filing boxes sitting by the coffee table.

" _These_ are _my_ memory boxes," Kurt announces as he walks up to the first box.

"Woah…" Blaine's eyes pop out.

"I'm surprised that you're surprised," Kurt chuckles as he lifts one of the lids and Blaine peaks in like a curious puppy. Inside, the box was packed to the brim with notebooks, all labeled with different months and years.

"OH! Your agendas!" Blaine says as he recalls all the times Kurt had been pouring into these notebooks.

"These are my diaries."

"Diaries?! What?" Blaine exclaims. "Since when?"

"Since the year we met," Kurt point out casually. "I thought you knew."

"I had no idea." Blaine scratches his head. "I just thought you were busy planning things…"

Kurt cracks up at Blaine's innocent confusion. "Oh my god! All this time you thought I was just filling out my calendar? I haven't used a paper agenda since my dad bought me a laptop Blaine, and now I use my phone. You should know that! You get my alerts don't you?"

"Yeah I guess." Blaine scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "Are both boxes full of diaries?"

"No, the other one's for photos," Kurt continues to explain as he pulls out one of his diaries and flips through the pages in one quick swoop. "Jeez I would need another fifteen years to fill up another box as big as this one!"

"Damn…and who writes in a diary in broad daylight?"

"I didn't know there were rules about diary writing," Kurt raises a sarcastic eyebrow at his husband.

"Didn't you ever worry about them falling in the wrong hands?"

"Well obviously my worries were for naught," Kurt quips. "Besides I had them under lock and key until a month ago. So you and especially Mr. Playboy would have never had the chance to find them."

"I stand corrected," Blaine concedes. "So, why the diaries?"

Kurt replaces the diary back in the box and gets comfortable on the couch. "Remember that seminar LastLady dragged us to the first week of University?" Kurt asks, even though he knew Blaine's answer. He spent three-quarters of the seminar snoozing away with his head on LastLady's shoulder.

"Um…" Blaine tilts his head adorably as he pretends to remember. "Yeah, totally."

"Really?"

"No."

Kurt snorts, "It was about Human Memory, ironically."

"Ah, well, I do remember falling asleep halfway through." Blaine laughs as he sits next to his husband.

"Yeah, I remember that and a bit of drool too," Kurt says in mocking scorn. "Anyway, the reason I started writing was because of flash-blub memories."

"Flash-bulb memories?" Blaine asks, his curiosity piqued.

"They're the most vivid memories in our minds, the ones that carry the most detail and accuracy."

"That's apropos…"

"Some say that's where the expression ' _burned in our memory_ ' came from," Kurt says in a knowledgeable tone, "and here I thought it came from cow branding."

Blaine smiles to himself, loving how much of a nerd his husband can be. It is both endearing and sexy.

"I remember the professor saying how they are the only memories we can rely on to be true," Kurt continues, excited to have Blaine interested in the subject. "The rest of our memories, however, eventually become obscured by our emotions. So ever since, I decided to write down as much about my life as I could and take as many photos as possible, that way I can return to those memories again when they were still in their true form."

"Wow." Blaine gazes at his husband in awe.

"What?" Kurt tilts his head inquiringly.

"We haven't even started the story yet and I already found out so many new things about you," Blaine says his eyes full of adoration.

Kurt blushes under his husband's adoring attention. Despite of his reddened cheeks, he raises his mug. "Here's to knowing you better."

Blaine repeats his husband's words and they clink their mugs together.

"So where shall we start?" Kurt says happily as he sets his cup on the table and reaches for his laptop on the coffee table.

"Hmmm," Blaine scratches his five o'clock shadow. "I guess the most logical place to start is my list."

"How very Vulcan of you…" Kurt says mechanically, his hand held up in the Vulcan salute.

"Did you just pull a Spock?" Blaine says wide-eyed.

"I was going for Tuvok, but sure," Kurt grins impishly.

Blaine cracks up and claps his hands together. "Oh my god, I love you."

"Yeah, okay," Kurt rolls his eyes teasingly. "It's all because of Star Trek…is that why it took you years to notice me? Is it because I never watched Star Trek until that one fateful night after the break up with Peter Pettigrew?"

Blaine gasps mockingly. "Oh my god, you finally found me out."

"Shut up…" Kurt shoves Blaine with his shoulder. " _I_ think the more logical place to start is how you formulated that list of yours."

"Oh no, please don't let me tell that story…" Blaine moans as his face contours with embarrassment.

"No way, I have my share of embarrassing stories to tell," Kurt chides his husbands. "There's no get-out-of-jail card for you Anderson."

"Okay, fine," Blaine resigns, as if he had a choice.

"Great." Kurt opens his laptop. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be…"

 ** _January-ish 2014 Blaine's living room couch/ bed/ kitchen/ abyss of despair intermittently interrupted by Netflix binges 10:35 am_**

"Honey, I'm home!" Playboy—aka Blaine's Childhood Best friend/ Long-time Roommate—hollers as he walks into the house with a carry-on dragging behind him. Immediately, Playboy stops in his tracks. The whole house is shrouded in darkness, and…what is this caustic smell? Something awry is happening here. Overcome with an equal mix of concern and revulsion, he abandons his bag by the door and takes a few calculated steps further down the foyer.

"Oh my god…" Playboy gasps and covers his mouth and nose from the assailing smell, which strengthened exponentially as he entered the living room…if one can call it that anymore. "What the hell happened here?" he says as he warily scopes the space: there was no living room left, just boxes upon boxes of pizza, Chinese delivery, and dozens of—is that Coors Light? ARRRGHHH!—monopolizing every conceivable surface the room had to offer. Amidst all the rubbish, Playboy noticed a minor movement under a familiar crocheted cover gifted to Blaine by his late grandmother. Playboy's blood froze, wondering if he is dealing with a break-in and about to come face to face with a filthy squatter. After all, Blaine is not back from his trip for another week. The mysterious form shifts again, this time the cover slips off its head, uncovering a fluff of patented, black curls belonging to none other than Mr. Blaine Devon Anderson. Playboy's eyes grow wide… Regardless of all the W.T.F. thoughts that surge through his mind, Playboy is relieved; he isn't exactly the kind to fight back anyone, let alone a squatter. Not because he's weak, hell no, but because he does not condone violence, except maybe when it comes to self-defence. Before he could call out his name, Blaine turns one more time and this time he bares his entire, naked back, including his ever-present, hairy ass. It is like looking at a CD cover with no censorship. Then again, Madonna would probably approve. If anything merits this picture it would be how perfectly round Blaine's butt is, or bulbous as TMZ always puts it.

"That's lovely." Playboy cringes at the sight. Not an unfamiliar view—they had their fair share of skinny dipping in the past—but definitely not welcome, especially in the middle of the living room where nakedness is prohibited. At least that is the rule: No sitting on the couch with your bare ass and definitely no sex.

 ** _Pause_**

"Omg, we totally broke that rule at least a dozen times," Kurt snickers.

"Oh I'm pretty sure Playboy is not innocent in that department…" Blaine points out. "I had a few dates on that very couch with Pizza Boy."

"I'm not going to lie," Kurt admits with some guilt. "TMZ and I conspired on this couch a few times."

"You devil," Blaine scoffs in jest.

"So did we, countless times." Kurt waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"No one's innocent in this house. It was kind of a stupid rule, to be honest."

Kurt laughs and scrunches his nose. "I'm just glad you go it reupholstered."

"Oh god, first thing I did when Playboy moved out."

 ** _Unpause_**

"Hey, Blaine." Playboy tries to wake him from where he's standing, but Blaine is still lying there, oblivious. Usually Blaine gets up from the lightest noise, which means he is either drunk or still recovering from a hangover. Playboy shakes his head reproachfully; if only his grandma can see what he's doing to her precious crochet. He is sure she would give him a few nasty words and a hot slap on the ass. Not all is lost though, she would still approve of the bed sheet he managed to put on the couch before he assailed it with his naked bits.

"Blaine!" Playboy tries again, a little louder. No dice.

Left with no other choice, Playboy wades his way through the sea of fast food and accidently steps on an unfinished box of shanghai noodles.

"Damn it," he curses. As he lifts his foot to check out the damage he trips and hits the coffee table and knocks a half-full can of beer all over his right leg. Wait…that doesn't smell like beer…

 ** _Pause_**

"Oh my god! You peed in a beer can?!" Kurt reprimands in horror, "but… The guest bathroom is just around the corner."

Blaine Shrugs. "What can I say? I was a miserable mess."

"Oh my god, good thing I didn't find you myself. I would have barfed all over your coffee table." Kurt pretends to gag.

"If it makes you feel better, I did use the bathroom for more important things…"

"Thank god," Kurt says, relieved. "For a second there I thought you used a pizza box…"

"I'm not going to lie I was tempted to do that."

"BLAINE!"

"I'm kidding! God, I was depressed, not unhinged!"

 ** _Un-Pause_**

Playboy stood there, fuming, leg covered in urine and a mood quickly souring. Sleeping or not, he is going to kick his ass. Still determined to wake the bastard, Playboy walks over behind the couch and gathers the sheets with furious fists. With one swift move he pulls the sheet right from under him and flips him onto the floor. Shocked by the sudden, harsh tumble, Blaine immediately jumps up, ready to fight the intruder, eyes ablaze and hair standing up at all ends. He looked like a caveman whose lunch has been stolen by coyotes. When his brain catches up with him, he realizes it's only Playboy, and loses his defensive pose.

"What the hell did you do that for?!" Blaine snaps furiously, but the effect is dulled when his unused voice cracks.

"You know, TMZ wasn't lying when he said you're as hairy as an ape." Playboy recoils Blaine's anger with a joke. But then he realizes it is more of a gripe, which is the equivalent of throwing salt on fire.

"What the hell does he know?" Blaine yells, this time his voice a lot clearer, and slightly more affronting.

"Woah, take it easy," Playboy says, thrown off by Blaine's unusual anger. Then again nothing is usual about this situation.

"I don't want to take it easy," Blaine counters feeling dangerously irascible from all the drinking he had done the night before. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going back to sleep."

"Oh no, no, no!" Playboy vaults over the couch and lands in front of Blaine, blocking him effectively. "Not until you explain why the hell this place is a fucking dump." Playboy gestures at the island of rubbish they're stranded in. "And apparently you forgot that there's a bathroom down the hall." he lifts up his leg to demonstrate the stain on his precious dress pants.

"It's my house. I can do whatever I want," Blaine replies petulantly.

"Excuse you?!" Playboy clicks his fingers with sass. "I pay rent, so technically it's my house too."

"Feel free to move out then!" Blaine sasses back. "And you can keep the damage deposit," He adds hoping it would sting. Playboy raises his eyebrows at his friend's insolence and scoffs.

"Why should I move out? You're the one who's going through something…" Playboy gestures wildly at Blaine's unpleasant appearance, "…whatever it is you're going through. And could you please, for the love of god, cover yourself?...NOT with _this_ blanket, your poor grandma will roll in her grave! _Use this._ " Playboy shoves the sheet in his arms. Blaine complies grudgingly, and pulls the sheet over his shoulders. Great now he looks like a lost goat herder. All he needs now is a gnarled walking stick and a pair of chewed up sandals and it'll complete the look. Oh well, better than naked.

"Thank you," Playboy says his voice calming down a bit as he feels a pang of pity for his friend's wretched state. "Now, would you care to tell me what's going on with you? You look like you've given up on life."

Blaine doesn't answer, instead he just dips his chin to his chest like a chastised kid and stares at the floor.

"Did you even go to work since I left?"

"I'm between jobs."

"But I thought you had a job until the end of next week."

"It got cancelled…" Playboy is not an idiot; Blaine was oozing of signs of a weak witness on the stand. A movie studio doesn't just cancel a recording on a whim, especially when the release date is only a couple of months away. He knows Blaine's job inside out. The fucker is lying!

"Are you sure?" he says unconvinced.

"Fuck off, Playboy…" Why is Blaine even trying? He knows the odds are stacked against him since Playboy is such a sterling arguer. No wonder he's such a popular Defence Lawyer. With that unfortunate acknowledgement, Blaine makes to leave the living room to avoid confrontation.

"Something happened at the wedding, didn't it?" Playboy says confidently. It's a tactic he always follows. He always lulls his witnesses into a warm sense of security and then throws the real stuff out of the blue, taking the witness off guard. After all, all the Jury needs is body language. Blaine stops in his tracks, his shoulders hunched. He gives Playboy a furtive look over his shoulder that tells it all. Voilà.

"I don't want to talk about it," Blaine says his voice so morose it almost breaks Playboy's heart.

"Since when?" Playboy insists, just as quietly, hoping it would convey his genuine concern. "You always tell me everything."

"No I don't."

"What do you mean?" Playboy dismisses Blaine's ridiculous claim.

"Since you're such a smart lawyer, why don't you fucking figure it out?!" Blaine suddenly snarls.

Okay this is getting scary. Right about now, Playboy is not averse to ruling split-personality disorder. "This is not like you, Blaine." Playboy says, still maintaining his calm voice. "Why are you talking to me like this?"

"Because!" Blaine turns to his friend, eyes wide with frustration. But it quickly dissipates as the pain in his heart takes over his voice. Instead of explaining, Blaine shifts the sheet further up his shoulder in an attempt to hide his shame and resumes his laborious trek up to his bedroom. The pain of his hangover, now that he was awake, was everywhere. His head was pounding, and his back was sore, and his knees felt like two rusty joints in need of oiling…Who knew two weeks of no running and yoga can really fuck someone up.

"Blaine! Please!" Playboy follows him, but he is hindered as he tries to tip toe through the rubbish without any more damage.

Blaine keeps on going, his mind set on his mission: his king-size bed.

"What happened that day?" Once released from the confines of rubbish, Playboy follows him up the stairs.

"Go away, Playboy." Blaine warns weakly as he does his best to climb up faster with his creaking knees. With a failed attempt, Playboy grabs his friend by the arm, but Blaine heaves him away with whatever strength he has left. Miraculously, and with lots of last-tether effort, Blaine makes it to his bedroom door, pain be damned.

"Blaine!" Playboy protests incredulously at his friend's unexpected retaliation. In appropriate answer, and honestly deserved—who does he think he is grabbing him like that?—Blaine slams the door in his face.

"Fine! Be that way!" He hollers angrily, but his anger quickly dissolves into serious concern.

Playboy waits a few minutes, pacing the hall outside Blaine's door. After a few minutes of fruitless contemplation, he decides to call TMZ—aka Blaine's University friend/ Blaine's other Lawyer friend/ Kurt's temporary lover and back-up husband in his 40's—

 ** _Pause_**

"Wait…TMZ?" Kurt looks up from his laptop. "I didn't know TMZ was involved in this."

"Yeah, Playboy knew if anyone would know what happened, TMZ would."

"He called him on his honeymoon?" Kurt says, affronted. How rude.

"Apparently, he did him a favour by calling. Mr. Hankey was being a bitch and refusing to go down for crumpets and tea at 5pm. Too English he said…whatever that means."

"Yeah, Mr. Hankey never knew how to let loose and enjoy the moment. Always so fucking square. Thank god TMZ dumped him."

"I know, right? I mean, who wants to be married to someone who doesn't like crumpets and tea?"

Kurt snickers and Blaine joins him. It's moments like this that Blaine loves, when they share a conspiratorial laugh together.

"Hmmm. Maybe we should add that phone call to the story?" Kurt suggests with questioning eyebrows.

"How? We don't know what they talked about."

"I know." Kurt concedes. "But TMZ does. Ever since that one lawsuit that almost got him fired from his Law firm, he's been recording every single phone call that goes through his phones."

"Seriously?" Blaine says in surprise. "That's…kind of creepy…"

"But absolutely necessary in his line of work."

"But I don't remember what day it was…"

"Well it was a couple of weeks after TMZ's wedding which took place on New Year's Eve."

"Oh yeah," Blaine agrees. "That was a painful Christmas holiday…What a terrible time to get married."

"God don't remind me, Mr. Hankey's mother was such a ho. Remind me again why you let them stay at your house?"

"I was the best man, what was I supposed to do?"

"Pay for a hotel room at the Radisson? But it's too late for that…What do you think? Should we call TMZ?" Kurt switches the subject back to the phone call.

"Don't you think it's weird?" Blain asks, a little apprehensive. "It is a private phone call…"

"Blaine, please…it is TMZ and Playboy." He dials the former's number and puts the phone to his ear, clearly unconcerned. "Anything they said in that phone call they probably told you already."

 ** _Un-pause_**

 **January-ish 18th 2014 Blaine's now immaculate living room** ** _4:15pm_**

After Playboy rigorously brings back the living room into its original state—one garbage bag at time—he sits himself on the thoroughly-vacuumed couch and anxiously waits for TMZ to call him back. He is actually surprised that TMZ even answered his call, considering that he's on his honeymoon in London with the insufferable Mr. Hankey. When he calls back, hopefully TMZ will fill him in on what happened at the wedding; speaking of the devil…

"Hey! Thanks for calling back," Playboy answers his phone after half a ring.

"Not at all," TMZ assures. "I'm actually glad you called. Mr. Hankey and I were fighting and you helped end it."

"Your marriage?!"

"Come on, Playboy!"

"Damn it…it was worth the try…"

"Yeah, yeah…how can I be of assistance? I know it's urgent, because I know that you wouldn't call me on my honeymoon unless it's a life threatening situation," TMZ teases.

"That's right," Playboy chuckles, "except it's not a life threatening situation, but it is pretty serious."

"Oh? What's wrong?" TMZ drops his joking tone. "Did someone get hurt?"

"No, well, not in a physical sense," Playboy eases his friend. "I came back from my yoga retreat today and I found Blaine in a really bad state. And I mean, unwashed for weeks, take-out food and garbage all over the living room. He even resorted to drinking Coors Light…"

TMZ gasps dramatically. "Ohhhh no, from Guinness to Coors Light?…that brings it pretty close to a life threatening situation…"

"I know! Before I left I kind of sensed that something was wrong. He hardly talked to anyone and he always had that woeful look on his face ever since he came back from your wedding."

"Right…" TMZ says in an all-knowing tone.

"Ah, so something did happen at the wedding," Playboy says. "I knew it!"

"Yes, Kurt got engaged." TMZ explains.

"Shut the fuck up! How come no one told me…"

"Well it's kinda hard to get a hold of someone on a yoga retreat…"

"Shit...Kurt's engaged," Playboy says and then his hand flies to his mouth. "Oh!...Ohhh.."

"Yeahhhhh…." TMZ echoes his friend's realization.

"I see…and Blaine is…"

"Crushed."

Playboy sighs.

"So you knew about Blaine and Kurt?"

"And Kurt? Something happened between them?"

"They kissed a few years ago."

"They did?…I mean I knew Blaine has a thing for Kurt but I never knew they kissed! When did it happen?"

"Remember Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yeah the guy that dumped him over text?"

"Yup, that one. In effort to console him, Kurt spent a whole week trying to cheer him up with dinners and movies …and one night, one thing lead to another…"

"Damn. But that's so long ago…how can he be hung up on a kiss for that long?"

"The heart wants what the heart wants…but yeah you're right…it does seem a bit extreme for Blaine to go off the deep end because of a kiss…do you think maybe they…."

"fucked? No way man, Kurt is far too skittish about that stuff…"

"There's always a first…"

"Nah I can't see it…Kurt is against cheating..."

"Well they did kiss…"

"That's not cheating."

"Is so!"

"Whatever man…I'm more concerned about why Blaine didn't tell me."

"No offense, Playboy, but you're the Take-Action kind of guy and Blaine didn't feel like becoming a homewrecker."

"I am not!"

"Yes you are! I bet you right now you are plotting something…"

"I'm not plotting anything!"

"So you're saying you're just going to leave Blaine alone?"

"No, but…"

"No buts Playboy…if he wants to do anything about it let him do it on his own."

"Right and where does Kurt stand in all this?"

"You know Kurt, he's a bit tough to read."

"Not if _I_ interrogate him…"

"No! Don't you dare! This is not one of your cases, this is personal and people could get hurt!"

"Okay! Jeez, I won't," Playboy backs off. "It's just so hard to see him like this. You know Blaine; he's always so rambunctious and happy. Even when he's sad he always has that glimmer of hope in his puppy eyes. But even that is snuffed."

"Oh lord," TMZ sighs. "So it is pretty dire."

"It is indeed…"

"Jesus…I wish I was there. I would have come over ASAP."

"Don't worry about it; I'll take care of him. I'll see if I can at least get him out of bed and take a shower. He smells like a fucking goat."

 ** _Pause_**

Blaine laughs. "He did tell me that as he dragged me to the shower."

"See? Nothing they wouldn't tell you…or me…when I broke up with TMZ and he said he'd rather break up than try to decipher my expressions."

"You were harder to read when you were younger, but not anymore."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you were super uptight."

"No I wasn't!" Kurt says with a defensive laugh.

"Yeah you were," Blaine insists. "It took you three years to admit that you were a year older than me! The whole time I thought you were my age and then one day, that one time you actually got drunk you finally told me your age. Among other things you never talked about."

Kurt looks at him like Blaine had just hit him with the flat side of a frying pan. "Oh my god…that's how you found out?! What else did I tell you?"

Gosh, Kurt always blabbes whenever he is under the influence of devil sauce. He hardly remembered anything that night, and all he recalled the next day was his major hangover and his memory of Blonde Cowboy—aka one of Rachel's Co-Stars— Rubbing his half-naked body all over an intoxicated Blaine. He was hoping he never mentioned anything about his sordid past during his first year out of high school. He was such a slut…Or worse, if he had confessed his undying love for Blaine…nah he couldn't have.

 _I didn't confess my love._

"You talked about your mom, mostly," Blaine said affectionately and Kurt relaxes.

 _Okay, that's not bad._ Kurt sighs mentally. _Wait…_

Kurt turns a suspicious eye on his husband. "So, when I actually told you about my mom, you already knew everything?"

Blaine gives him an incriminating look that leaves no room for innocence. "It was our first official date in the city; I didn't want to ruin it. Besides, I love it when you talk about her. You always get that big wistful smile on your face."

"Aww, that's actually pretty sweet," Kurt says genuinely. "And here I was going to hold a grudge against you."

Blaine shrugs and changes the subject seamlessly. "So, you had a crush on me back in Uni, ha?"

Kurt blushes. A crush is an understatement. "Something like that," Kurt says with a hint of mischief.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Blaine asks his tone now serious but tender.

"Other than the fact that you were still dating LastLady and you were still in the closet? I saw no reason to rock the boat."

"But I did come out later that year."

"I was dating Mr. Helicopter, remember?" Kurt sighed sadly.

"Oh right. The Helicopter Boyfriend." Blaine recalls the overly jealous boyfriend. So much as a glance and he would fly off the handle. He was once kicked out of the pub for laying a black eye on a waiter who offered a free beer on the house to Kurt. Kurt didn't speak to him for a week.

"Yeah, I guess it was never in the cards back then," Kurt says, surrendering their luck to fate.

"I guess not," Blaine agrees.

 ** _Unpause_**

 ** _January 18th Blaine's messy bedroom darkened by a doube-cell honey comb Blind 7:43pm_**

There it is, that infamous Turkey Sandwich his mother makes every year with Christmas leftovers, sitting there, all juicy and delicious—the golden gates of all sandwiches—beckoning him, to gain a few more pounds, and yes he doesn't give a damn. When he reaches out to grab it, he hears someone calling his name from behind.

"Blaine."

He turns back to the table and the sandwich is gone! That amazing concoction of turkey, gravy and spinach with sautéed onions and balsamic vinegar is GONE!

"Blaine…" the voice persists. The man sounds familiar, but Blaine can't pin point his face. Blaine flicks his head from one side to the other, but he sees no one around. Who cares, though?! THAT SANDWICH! HE NEEDS IT! As he turns his eye back the to the table the turkey sandwich reappears, and just as he gets his hands on it, he feels the rug being pulled form under his feet…wait a rug? Why is there a rug in the kitchen?

"BLAINE! WAKE UP!" Playboy yells into Blaine's ear. Startled form his dream, Blaine's eyes fly open and he suddenly finds himself scrambling for purchase as his ass and the sheets under him are pulled off the bed. BAM!

"What the hell, Playboy!" Blaine croaks as he struggles to sit up.

"You've been sleeping since ten o'clock, I thought it was time for you to get up," Playboy chastises. "And thank you for finally making an effort to put on a pair of briefs."

"Fuck off," Blaine curses and makes for the bed.

"Nah ah, you're not getting back in there again." Playboy takes Blaine by the leg and pulls him away from the bed.

"HEY! STOP IT!" Blaine yells as he endeavours to loosen himself from Playboy's grip.

"Resistance is futile my friend," Playboy says mischievously.

"LET ME GO!"

"NO!"

Determined to get him into the shower, Playboy grabs his other foot and drags him towards his ensuite bathroom. "You need a shower! You smell like a fucking goat!"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! LET ME GO!" Blaine bellows, but his words fall on deaf ears. Once inside the bathroom, Playboy lets him go to open the shower door. In that opportune moment Blaine takes a run for it, but Playboy is too quick and pulls him back by his briefs. They wrestle for about a minute and finally, being the stronger of the two—even on a good day—Playboy ends the skirmish as he successfully shoves Blaine into the shower and turns the water on. To keep him inside, Conner uses the plunger and sticks it between the handles, effectively locking Blaine in.

"LET ME OUT!" Blaine yells as he bangs at the glass doors, but Playboy won't budge. It isn't until Blaine tries to climb over the door that Playboy starts to get worried. Ostensibly, putting an angry person in a slippery shower is definitely not the smartest nor is it the safest combination. And just as he came to that unfortunate conclusion, Blaine slips against the glass and ends up hitting the back of his head against the tiled wall. Shocked by the blow, Blaine slowly slides down to the floor into a fetal position and hugs the back of his head with his hands. Mortified, Playboy immediately releases the door and hurries to Blaine's aid.

"SHIT! I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" He turns the water off and inspects the affected area. Thankfully there is no bleeding, but he is sure a good sized bump will rear its ugly head soon enough.

"I'm really sorry." Playboy says ruefully. "I was just trying to get you out of your funk."

Not able to hold it together any longer, a deep, wretched sob tears out of Blaine's lungs. Playboy kneels by his friend and puts his arms around him. He stays there with him as he heaves short breaths, trying to hold whatever pieces his friend has left of himself. It is a release Blaine had been denying himself for weeks. He had been in shock ever since that moment Doctor Perfect kneeled down in front of Kurt and promised him a wonderful, full life together. That stupid speech was perfect, just like everything else in his life. Perfect looks, perfect body, perfect job, perfect personality…and worst of all he has the perfect man. _His_ perfect man…it is all just perfectly unfair.

The heaving sobs dissolved into sniffs, occasionally breaking the reign of silence. Once Blaine is breathing normally again, Playboy takes the opportunity to breech the subject.

"Does this have anything to do with Kurt getting engaged?" Playboy asks candidly, but not unkindly.

Blaine waits a moment before he nods. How Playboy knows, he has no idea how, but it doesn't matter anymore. He is beyond caring at this point. With the reminder the question poses, a fresh bout of tears takes hold of him and he doubles over. Playboy sighs, unsure of what to do, so he lets Blaine cry to his heart's content. When the man cools again, Playboy ventures another question.

"How come you never told me?" he asks. Blaine shrugs his throat hoarse form crying. God, what a sad story he has become.

"How did you get from one kiss to this?" Playboy asks, genuinely confused. "I could see if you guys dated or hooked up, but—" Playboy stops his mind goes back to his most recent phone call. "TMZ was right, you guys hooked up."

Blaine stays quiet which is enough for Playboy to confirm their suspicions.

"When?" Playboy asks.

Not feeling the fetal pose anymore, Blaine unravels himself from Playboy's hug and leans against the shower wall. "three years ago."

"How?"

"It was after Green Gables's party." If Playboy's calculations are correct that takes them back to 2011. "We were both a bit tipsy and got really flirty and one thing led to another…"

"Wow, he must really like you, Blaine; because the Kurt I know is not a cheater…he's like the poster boy for monogamy."

"He didn't cheat," Blaine shook his head. "He and his boyfriend had a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Playboy furrows his brows and his eyes narrow in suspiciously.

"A kiss and don't tell deal…"

"Excuse me?" Playboy couldn't believe it, Kurt had agreed to an open relationship? What the hell? "We're talking about the same, Kurt, right?"

Blaine nods affirmatively.

"Wow…" Playboy shakes his head in disbelief as all his beliefs about a fair and wholesome Kurt fly out the window. Then another question occurs to him. "Was it just the one time?"

Blaine shakes his head.

"How long?"

"Six months," Blaine answers quietly.

"Six months?" Playboy exclaims. "Fuck…how did I miss all this?" But he knew the answer to that already. After the sudden death of Red Rose—aka the only woman that ensnared Playboy's heart—In a car accident, his whole life was thrown into an endless loop of depression. He couldn't think straight for months, cursing himself for letting the chance of something more slip out of his hands, forever. For a while he blamed himself for her death, just because he never had the guts to ask her out. Thankfully, and with a help of a professional grief counselor, he was able to get his head out of the fog and back into world of the living. And apparently during all that time he had missed an entire relationship between his two housemates.

A grumbling sound interrupts his reverie as Blaine's stomach issues its protest.

"Someone's hungry," Playboy laughs lightly, finding the opportunity for some levity. However, the moment is snuffed as he turns to Blaine a dull desperation in his eyes.

"When was the last time you ate?"

Blaine shrugs, "yesterday, I think."

"How about we go out for a hearty steak and veggies at your favourite place?"

Blaine looks at him with tired eyes; just the idea of going out repulsed every inch of his body. However, a good steak didn't sound too bad, especially since he hadn't eaten a proper meal for weeks.

"Come on," Playboy encourages him gently. "Some fresh air will do you good."

At length, Blaine agrees.

"Great, but please have a shower first." Playboy gets up and points accusingly at his friend's primitive beard. "And shave that shit off your face. You look like a goat's uncle."

"Goat's uncle?" Blaine raises an eyebrow at his friend with whatever quizzicality he could muster.

"Well I'm guessing if a goat had an uncle he'd have a beard like this one."

Blaine shakes his head and chuckles. "You're stupid."

"And there's Blaine I know!" Mission accomplished, for now at least.

 ** _Pause_**

"Wow he really did drag you to the shower," Kurt says amused. "That slip must have hurt though," Kurt winces sympathetically.

"I didn't even notice the pain; my head was already pounding from a hangover."

Kurt chuckles then he fades into silent contemplation.

"What is it?" Blaine asks as he sees a frown form between his husband's brows.

"I wonder what would have happened if we never hooked up."

"I don't know," Blaine answers truthfully.

"Do you think we would have ever gotten together?" Kurt asks.

Blaine looks at him and smiles. "I think so. I mean…those six months were amazing…but I had fallen in love with you way before then. So in way I knew we were destined to be together." Yet somewhere along the way he lost sight of that destiny, until _The List_ happened.

Kurt raises his eyebrows curiously. "Really? When was that?"

"I don't know exactly," Blaine teases. "But it was somewhere between the Star Wars and Star Trek marathons…."

"But that could be any time between the day I met you up to the last summer before I moved out," Kurt protested.

Blaine winks. It would be remiss if he would tell that story now. "All in good time."

Kurt scoffs, clearly disappointed but not upset as he gives his husband a reproachful smile.

"I know one thing, though," Blaine confesses. "I would have gone down that rabbit hole regardless of what happened between us. It wasn't just about losing you. It was also about the idea that my friends were slowly settling in, one after the other, while I watched from the sidelines. And with my abysmal track record with relationships…let's just say it can get to a person after 15 years… far too many regrets to handle."

A twinges pulls at Kurt's hearts at this unexpected admission, which brings him to the next question. "Did you ever have regrets, about us?"

 _I have to admit when I asked you this question I could almost feel the acid in my stomach climbing up my throat. I know it sounds silly, because we were already married so what would it matter if there were any regrets? Regardless, I was suddenly infused with fear, wondering if it was the wrong time to ask such a question. It felt like I was stepping on a landmine. But sometimes what appears to be a landmine turns out to be just a patch of wonderful green grass._

Blaine takes a moment to think about his answer honestly.

"No, not really," he answers truthfully. "I guess the only thing I regret was that it ended far too quickly…"

Kurt sighs inwardly, not wanting to give away his initial misgivings.

"Do you?" Blaine ricochets the question at his husband.

Kurt looks down at his hands nervously. "I do, and I don't," he admits ruefully. Blaine tilts his head questioningly.

"The only reason I regret it is because I never had the guts to tell you how I really felt. Instead I cease the opportunity of an open relationship to satisfy my own selfish needs. And I used it, thinking it wouldn't hurt anyone. Then again, I don't regret it, because I got to be with you, and I got to truly know what's like to be in love…I don't know," Kurt dismisses his reasoning as foolish ramblings.

"I know what you mean." Blaine reaches out to fix a few rogue hairs that escaped Kurt's perfect chestnut coif in a reassuring gesture. "I get it. I wasn't exactly forthcoming either; it took me years to face my feelings, and spent one of those years talking to the wrong people, when I should have been talking to you. You should have been the first on my list, and I should have told you the truth. Instead, I chose to give up and push you away in the process. But things were complicated, it wouldn't have been an easy thing to admit when there's so much at stake. Besides, it wouldn't be you if you didn't try to save everyone's feelings from getting hurt."

As Blaine speaks, Kurt's chest loosens the breath he doesn't remember holding, absolving him from a guilt he had carried since the day they crossed the line into the physical realm of their relationship. When Blaine is done, Kurt reaches out and laces his fingers through the curls at the back of Blaine's neck and brings his mouth to his in a firm, hot kiss. Momentarily, Blaine is surprised by the kiss, but he quickly melts into to it and lets out an appreciative breath through his nose.

"There's another reason why I don't regret hooking up," Kurt says as he pulls away from the kiss, his tone a bit coquettish.

"And why is that?" Blaine asks playfully.

"Because…it was _fucking hot._ " Kurt's crystal blue eyes, turned soft-green by the incandescent light of the crackling fire, glint impishly.

"It was fucking hot," Blaine licks his lips before he takes Kurt's face into his hands and lays another kiss on his mouth, with a little more exploration.

"Like the make out in the theatre after the party," Kurt says between kisses.

"Oh yeah, it was like fire."

"What about the one in the cab after the movie?" Kurt giggles. "I swear I saw stars after that kiss."

Blaine chuckles at Kurt's hilarious choice of words. "Remember the grumpy Scottish Cabbie?"

"'Oy! Can yeh no' read the sign? No PDA in my cab laddies!'" Kurt imitates the cranky old man.

"He did not say _laddies_ ," Blaine counters.

"No, probably not, but it just sounds right, doesn't it?" Kurt snickers.

"Yeah, it does," Blaine laughs.

"What about that one night after you helped me with my vogue article." Kurt's giggles fade into a shy smile as he recalls the night he crawled into Blaine's bed at midnight with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips and a heart full of nothing but love.

"The first time we made love." Blaine knew Kurt felt the same way about that night, because it was the first time Kurt had shared his bed through to the morning. Even Neverland didn't feel as magical as having Kurt laying by his side, his arm wrapped over his waist and his nose nuzzled into his hair, tickling his scalp with even, soft breaths. As their minds wander back to that wonderful memory, their mouths find each other again.

It was Kurt who finally pulls apart and clears his throats. "If we keep this up we'll never get done on time."

Blaine groans, but he quickly resigns, understanding the importance of getting the job done.

 ** _Unpause_**

 ** _January 18th Arlington Club and the wonderful aroma of sizzling steak 8:45 pm_**

Merlot wine is poured—only for Playboy as Blaine was much too done with alcohol for the time being—after the waiter places two plates of steak, perfectly ornate with fresh green salad and double-baked potatoes. The boys waited patiently as their server finishes his duties. When done, the man bows his way out genially with a common restaurant pleasantry and a quick assurance that he's nearby if either of them need further assistance.

As Blaine plops the first bite of steak in his mouth, he leans back in his chair and his eyes close with sheer delight as the juicy meat, so eloquently marinated and braised to perfection, soaks into his taste buds. This is the third rush of joy he has experienced today: the first being the satisfying feeling of freshly cleaned skin after a much needed shower, then came the next burst of joy when crisp air flowed into his lungs as he stepped out of the house for the first time in two weeks. Being around the rest of civilization made him realize how ridiculous he had been, ensconced in the living room on the same couch moping and eating unappetizing variety of grease and drinking shit for beer. That being said, with no one around to scold him and kick him off his ass, it was easy to fall into the rut.

After dinner, the boys decide to walk back the twenty blocks to their home, neither of them in a hurry to turn in for the night. The walk was mostly silent, peppered with a few inquiries about the retreat. Halfway through their walk, Blaine stops, his eyes aghast.

"What happened to the bakery?" Blaine asks, too shocked by the absence of the confectionary display that he is so used to seeing when passing down this road countless of times.

"You mean Marvin's Bake House?" Playboy says undisturbed by the sight in front of them. "Blaine, it's been closed for over three years."

Three years! Damn…where was he when this happened? It was their go to place during exams and breakfasts on party weekends. As they graduated University their visits became less frequent, and it all but ceased when Kurt moved out. And look at it now, all so lonely and desolate. Just like Blaine.

"But don't worry, they reopened on 5th street," Playboy amends his comment, hoping it would brighten up Blaine's mood. "The new place is really nice, and the food still tastes the same."

"But it won't be the same," Blaine disagrees forlornly.

"I know what you mean," Playboy sighs in agreement. "But at least it's not gone forever."

It used to be such a robust part of the otherwise gloomy strip-mall, and seeing it now stripped to its bare bones rent Blaine's heart in two. A part of his past was gone and he didn't even notice. At that thought, Blaine couldn't help but see the analogy within the disused display and the ghostly glass windows of the bakery. Just like places, people move on, drift apart to the point of forgetfulness, an analogy that fit Blaine like a glove. Kurt will eventually forget about him. What was that song again? _Kurt and Perfect sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G._ _First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in a baby carriage.._. It makes sense why friends aren't mentioned because it doesn't rhym with reality, unless said friends are singing the same song. At Blaine's pace, he will never catch up to anyone.

After the depressing discovery, the rest of the walk is fraught with sad silence and when they reach the steps to their home, Blaine holds back.

"Aren't you coming in?" Playboy asks, concern writ on his face.

"I think I'll sit out here for a bit."

"It's five degrees outside..."

"I know, I just need a couple of minutes to think."

"Okay," Playboy nods and disappears behind the front door.

And before Playboy closes the door behind him, Blaine calls out and his friend reopens the door just enough to show his inquiring countenance.

"Thanks for kicking my ass today. Twice," Blaine says genuinely. Seriously if Playboy hadn't shown up he would probably still be sulking on the couch probably munching on a stale piece of pizza. "And thanks for cleaning up."

Playboy grins from ear to ear. "There's more where that came from and don't mention it."

For a little while Blaine sat on the stairs, even though the concreter is a cold as Ice. Blaine looked out into the neighbourhood, his mind not focusing on any particular thought, until his eyes fell on the fence where Kurt used to lock his bike. Then he looks around him and realizes that this place is riddled with memories of Kurt, inside out. If he were to move on hewould have to…And just like that, he decides exactly what he is going to do. But first, he will have to talk to Kurt.

 _But the talk never came._

* * *

 **Chapter End Notes:**

Days Go By - Dirty Vegas


End file.
